


Words

by Virodeil



Series: Caught Is Caught Is Cuddled [12]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Feels, Family History, Gen, Loki-centric, POV Loki (Marvel), POV Third Person Limited, Present Tense, Unexpected Family Relations, Word Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 23:02:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21064511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virodeil/pseuds/Virodeil
Summary: Words can tell so much. Variations of words, even more. But still, there are things that cannot be expressed well or sincerely through mere words. Loki is learning it now; from a frost giant, at that.





	Words

**Author's Note:**

> The underlined bit at the beginning was taken from Marvel’s film Thor. The rest of the story after that point is AU.
> 
> This story has been a labour of love since early July, finished written and preliminarily edited just now. I hope you do not mind a flood of similar stories…. My muse seems to be intent on cleaning up my computer drive….

“Your father is a thief and a murderer.”

Loki’s mind stirs, latching onto the accusation and feeling disturbed by it, distracted from the fast _and unforeseen_ unravelling of his initial – _simple_ – plan. The words easily stand out, with how incongruous they are when tagged into a situation where chaos reigns supreme. “Thievery” and “murder,” as Laufey puts it, _actually_ entail plans targetted on _specific persons_, as he well knows, and not in a scale as large as a _war_, at that. They also usually refer to the doings of hasty, simple criminals, as he has observed all these centuries in the Court of Justice.

Yet another slight to Odin Allfather, then.

But maybe he can use it to his advantage, to focus the minds of the brutes on a simpler, hopefully less flammable matter than Thor’s flammable temper? Especially if he says it politely? Thor seems so determined to get _his own people_ killed, otherwise!

So the frazzled second prince of Asgard steps up, opens his mouth and _speaks_. Regardless of his elder brother’s hiss for him to _know his place_. Regardless of the sudden, intense, _unreadable_ attention Laufey gives him. Regardless of the charged atmosphere that is beginning to make itself known _and not caused by Thor’s damned hammer_.

And a moment or an age afterwards, it is Laufey’s turn to speak, answering his veiled accusations with a short, intense, single sentence of: “_He_ took my firstborn.”

_He_, meaning Odin, Loki knows. But there’s an undercurrent of _something_ in the pronouncement, too…, as if being called a man is supposed to be an insult. Odd.

There is no mention of the Casket. But—

“_He_ took the Anchor.”

–Ah, _there_, the mention of the Casket of Ancient Winters, if indeed “the Anchor” is synonymous to that artefact.

Loki cannot help thinking, `_Whoever the firstborn was, he was lucky to have been placed above such reputedly fearsome and one-of-a-kind artefact._` Even as he states that no jötun has been raised in Asgard, nor has there been any account – secret or not – about the killing of jötnar children during the war. Even as he _politely_ argues about the danger of the Casket for other realms, albeit with a promise to speak with his father about a new deal for the temporary use of the artefact anyway, _just_ to rebuild Jötunheim, should he and his company be given safe passage back to Asgard.

The notion _haunts_ him.

But then, his mind blanks out entirely, when Laufey declares that the band of belligerent warriors will be allowed to return to Asgard unharmed _if_ they leave Loki here.

“UNACCEPTABLE!” Thor roars, instantly.

Loki flinches, as his mind kicks back into motion through the application of a jolt of alarm and trepidation. He is honestly astonished by Thor’s defence of him, and honestly _warmed_ by it; but Laufey is still a _king_, albeit a king of brutish monsters. Someone of such station deserves at least _some_ respect, especially here in his domain.

Not to mention, the Asgardians are clearly in the wrong, here and now, and the jötnar are reputedly savage… and easy to offend… and awefully powerful even for the might and combat skills of individual Asgardians….

The second prince of Asgard tries _and fails_ not to tense up, as that particular train of thought passes across the fore of his frazzled mind. He tenses up even more when, in a lethally soft and indifferent voice, Laufey proclaims, “Then your continued living is also _unacceptable_ to us, Asgardians.”

“No!” Thor – _the **oaf**_ – rebuts, ignoring how the jötnar that surround his tiny, pitiful contingent are advancing menacingly _towards them_. “You shall let us _all_ return to Asgard _unharmed_, _now_.”

Loki cringes. To think that he _nearly_ managed to get them away from danger–!

But, well, if soft diplomacy can’t save them from the brutes….

“What would you have with a prince of Asgard? Ransom me? Kill me? Enslave me? _Eat_ me?”

His mouth clicks shut, as those _knowing_ red eyes find his own eyes _and latch their attention there_.

“Taking the weregild I should have taken a long time ago, perhaps, or… proving something undeniably,” is the jötun king’s deceptively mild answer.

The statement seems to be meant to provoke the trespassers – no, _Loki_ in particular. But Loki cannot unhinge his jaw even to literally save his life. Even though his chest _burns_ with how objectified he is in that statement. Even though words are flooding and scalding his throat, battering against the cage of his teeth and lips. Even though he longs to crush _that throat_ that has uttered such words with his own bare hands, regardless of whoever the utterer is. Even though–.

“Asgard owes you no weregild!” Thor barks, and only then Loki realises that he – _Loki_, the second prince of Asgard, the second in line to the throne after his elder brother – is _shaking_.

He quails even more, albeit inwardly, when Laufey bares his sharp black teeth and snarls openly. There is bitterness on that sharp, blue, rugged face, in addition to the expected hatred; but there is also _grief_, and it seems _alien_ in this kind of “negotiation.”

“Asgard owes us weregild twice over, son of a warbride,” the jötun says, then, even more deceptively calm than before.

“Son of–. _You_! Do _not_ involve my mother in this!” Thor snaps, brandishing his hammer.

Loki flinches, but not because of the impending violence. – No, he is used to that.

He is not used to _his mother_ being called a “_war_bride,” however.

Thor has missed the point entirely. Laufey has _deliberately_ chosen “warbride” to denote Frigga. Not a statement of fact, as Thor accepts it to be, but an assumption that Odin – _Father_ – must have taken his bride – _Mother_! – by force, unable to take a bride otherwise. That _vile monster_ undoubtably _also_ alludes to the _fact_ that _the Queen of Asgard_ used to be part of _spoils of war_, before she was ever a queen.

Fire burns in her second son’s chest, as loyalty to her demands recompense.

And then, the fire leaps away from the son’s hand in a hot, bright, solid ball, straight towards _that monster’s chest_.

Unfortunately, however, Laufey is apparently adept at seiðr; or at least some form of it, involving the shaping of ice.

The ball of fire, tinted green with Loki’s colour of seiðr, flares and fizzles within a hollow sphere of ice, unable to break free. And then its thrower follows suit, trapped and dragged _closer to the throne_ by an immense outpouring of seiðr that invisibly encases his whole frame.

Thor yells something; probably throws something, _too_. But Loki’s shocked, terrified attention is locked on Laufey’s thunderous look, then to his ice-encased ball of fire, then back to _that look_.

And then his ball of fire is _crushed_ into nothingness by its captor, as directed by Laufey’s clenched fist, and, just so, the cocoon of formidable power wrapped round him _implodes_.

The double implosion leaves the hapless ás feeling raw, open, and so, so dizzy.

The monster that caused the said implosion drags him up onto its lap – _into_ its lap, with the addition of its huge if slim arms – and Loki cannot do _anything_ to fight it, dazed as he is by the overwhelming sensations, the overwhelming changes.

“You–! What did you do to my brother?!!!” Thor howls, from afar it seems, but his little brother cannot care less about him or nearly anything else right now.

Because heartbeats – _very familiar_ heartbeats – are thundering in his ears, viscerally calling to him, complemented by the cocoon of seiðr that now acts as a cradling fortress round him. It is even augmented by flesh that cocoons him from nearly all sides, almost like… like… like….

The heartbeats…. The cocoon of seiðr…. The cocoon of flesh….

Loki instinctively curls up in the arms of the monster, in the lap of the monster, and keens softly, sharply, like a blind pup seeking the comfort of its dam.

And like the proverbial dam, the monster gathers him even closer, murmuring softly, _at last_, “Welcome home, fruit of my womb, Loptr Laufey-childe.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments? Thoughts? Complaints? I hope you enjoyed the ride! ☺


End file.
